


Tantrum

by catboysam



Series: Sammy's Sickness Routine [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catboysam/pseuds/catboysam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is sick, but doesn't like being taken care of. Gen/no pairings, little bit of brocuddling, sick!Dean, exasperated!Sam. Part of my Sammy's Sickness Routine 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tantrum

**Author's Note:**

> Written for soulforsam (now protectivesam) on Tumblr. Part of my Sammy's Sickness Routine 'verse where the boys are much cuddlier than in canon.

 

"Geddoff be, Samb! I cad eed id on by own!"

"Dean, you're gonna make me spill it! Quit pushing!"

"Jus' gimme th' damb soup!"

Sam held the bowl up and out of his brother's reach. "No, Dean! You need to sit back and rest. Don't be such a baby and let me feed you!"

"You th' one tryin' ta bake be a baby!" Dean sniffed hard, making a wet snorting sound. "Gimme!" He made a swipe at the bowl and missed. "Saaamb!"

"Oh my-! Fine, you jerk!"

It was all Sam could do to not throw his hands up in the air and spill the soup all over himself. Instead, he slammed the bowl on the nightstand and stomped off to the bathroom, a "big brothers are literally the dumbest" expression darkening his face.

Dean sniffed and glanced down at the bowl of soup. Half of it had spilled onto the nightstand and bed from the force of Sam's bowl-slam. What a waste.

* * *

Sam sat at the table, typing furiously. Dean reached for the box of tissues but accidentally knocked them to the floor out of his reach.

"Samb?"

"What?"

"Can you hand be-"

"Oh,  _now_ you need me? What happened to doing it on your own?"

Dean glared. "Forged id."

"No, Dean, go ahead. What do you need?"

"I said friggin' forged id."

With that, Dean turned over and away, and Sam went back to typing just as furiously as before.

* * *

"Samby. C'mere."

Sam huffed, exasperated. "What now?"

"Jus' c'mere!"

Another huff. "You're freakin' bossy for a sick person."

"Shuddup." Dean held out an arm. "Now  _c'mere_."

After a minute of glaring, Sam got up and sat next to Dean on his bed. "What?"

Dean wrapped his outstretched arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him in close.

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "Dean?"

"I'b sorry, kiddo."

Sam's face softened. "…Me too, Dean." He laid his head on his big brother's shoulder. "I just wish you'd let me take care of you like you do for me all the time."

"Id jusd feels weird, okay? I'b th' big bruther here, y'know?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you don't need anyone."

"Yeah, I guess." Dean moved them so that they were both lying down, Sam's head still on his shoulder. Sam yawned and pressed his face into Dean's chest.

"I hope you get better soon. You're driving me nuts, dude."

Dean chuckled. "Look who's talkin'."

"Hmph. 'Night, Dean." And with a few deep breaths, Sam was asleep.

Dean pushed Sam's bangs up and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"'Nighd, Samby."

* * *

Sam sniffed miserably. "Deeed! You bade be sick!"

"Shuddup."


End file.
